


Necktie, whiskey and a gun

by Amaryllis133



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Character Study, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-06
Updated: 2014-12-06
Packaged: 2018-02-28 10:37:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2729279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amaryllis133/pseuds/Amaryllis133





	Necktie, whiskey and a gun

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Галстук, виски, револьвер](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2591927) by [Simon_C](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Simon_C/pseuds/Simon_C). 



Erwin's got a straight back, a cleanshaven jaw and a tranquil look of someone with big plans for commander's seat and compensation.

“Today you are making your choice,“ he says in a still voice looking into the eyes of the recruits. “Garrison will let you live a long life, Scouts — quick death at best, and I want everyone of you to know the length you'll have to go to and the future expecting you there. I shall not make the choice for you. You will.“

Recruits eye him warily in return. Erwin is young, his disreputation outrides him, though, and you cannot hide something like that beneath fresh uniform. Still, sometimes it works, mostly when he is like this, straight and smooth from newly polished high-boots up to close haircut. Everything about him is noble until he speaks.

Fucked all over, Levi thinks.

“He's good at that, isn't he?“ Hange whispers in amusement.

“Do we want them to bug out?“

“Not a foggiest idea.“ Hange shrugs and gives him a wink.

 

Once Erwin Smith is done talking, no one utters a word. He comes down in awkward silence, and it echoes of the future Levi sees; Erwin is a hulky leader to become. However, Mike approaches him and smacks on the shoulder, Hange gives a salute with her glasses, and Erwin takes his place between them with his hands behind his back.

Fucked all over, you are, Levi thinks.

 

He might blend in. They've got much in common.

Every night Levi puts a gun next to his head and keeps a knife at his left hand. At night he has bad dreams and people who were alive until a few weeks ago come back to life.

Levi wakes then.

“You are so nervous in the morning,“ Hange grumbles swarming into his bedroom without a knock and dodging a knife.

It is she who presented the knife to him. It is she who treats Levi with morning tea flavored with Erwin's whiskey. No one minds whiskey. Spirits taste of nasty lingering guilt, but one can live with it.

Levi is good at this.

 

“We do not need you right now.“ Erwin says that in a serious way and contemplates him with his tranquil eyes. “Take a rest, take a tour, get your breath.“

“I'm fucking tired of getting that breath,“ Levi puts it straight three days after the sorting.

“I can send you over to Hange's assistance,“ Erwin offers him.

He's got a whiskey bottle in tap, most likely the one, and a pile of papers, and ink, and old maps and much else besides.

“What a mess,“ Levi grunts when leaving his chair.

The office bears a colorful tint of a room used as much as a bedroom, or even more than that.

“So off to Hange you go?“ Erwin queries, his voice devoid of sympathy. He reconfirms Levi's whereabouts as if like Levi being in a wrong place can bring down some far-reaching plans.

“Like hell,“ Levi says and slams the door on his way out.

 

“Like hell,“ Hange nods recklessly. “Come on, hold him down.“

A body screams on the table warping ferociously and looks somewhat shorter than supposed to be.

“Straps might work better,“ Levi notes just in case. Hange picks up a slim needle and moves closer.

“Meet Eddie. He lost his leg on maneuvers,“ she explains with an improper joy.

“I do see that. I thought you had different profile.“

“Positively.“

Eddie's left leg is twice shorter than the right one. He stinks of blood and meat and dirty pants which probably means he hadn't had any balls.

“So why the hell did you enter the Scouts?“ Levi asks, moving closer and pressing with all his weight. Everyone here should be asked the same question and give a complete answer instead of side-glances at the command.

“You get paid fairly good there, you know,“ Hange huffs, draws together the skinfold on Eddie's thigh and makes the first stitch. Eddie cannot be helped with what he lost, but what's left is covered in huge cuts and rips.

“Are you serious?“

“At least I can afford some tea.“ She gently wipes the leg with a bloodish brown rag, and Eddie, completely out of his sense, is howling and kicking on the table.

 

Levi cannot get himself something to do; Eddie gets dugged in the next day, Hange is a crappy doctor, but no one here is better, so that's the way it is.

“Well, let's get the blue devils out,“ she says adjusting her glasses while the recruits sweat over the showels. “Better luck next time.“

In a week Levi cannot remember the one-legged boy's name, but he still holds the memory of the stink, the red-hot needle and the neat stitch.

In the morning he wakes two minutes before Hange rushes into the room. Levi waits for his breakfast and tea with a spot of whiskey, changes into his uniform and does not look back. He's got nothing to do but watch, and he watches Hange who never leaves the basement, and Mike who follows Erwin like a dog, and Erwin who was entrusted with training the recruits.

Recruits behold their commander with awe and admiration and puppy-eyes and long for action.

“This is a crappy training, you know?“ Levi tells him the day after.

“You got other ideas?“ Erwin raises his eyebrows, putting off the papers.

Levi shrugs; he's got no ideas as well but he would definitely know the way to occupy the useless bastards before most of them kick the bucket in their first raid.

“Let me take the charge. I'll manage.“

Erwin nods with relief in his eyes. Obviously, he has no idea about dealing with teenagers.

Levi watches him closely, seeking for a man who made him enter the Scouts. He fails to find the man. This tranquil-eyed Erwin is straight and smooth, and damn, for how long he's been changing himself into this, hiding the passion, burying desires, sheltering the lust and hunger in the eyes, with not a hair out of place, no sign of a madman inside?

The madman seems to have walked a long way before he put on a necktie, slicked his hair back and learned to be normal.

Fucked all over, he is, Levi thinks with amusement walking out of the office. All of them are, from little bastards attracted to a winged-back coat to Shadis who is ignorant of what is sitting there, close by, in the next room, patiently filling the papers.

 

Levi thinks he likes the place. He gets paid for training and somewhat for killing, and that's good enough. No one's alive aroung him; Hange says, though, she can afford some tea, maybe even some whiskey. Maybe even something more.

 

He does blend in pretty well.


End file.
